Cluedo at Christmas
by bauble123
Summary: It was the fifth game when Sherlock pulled out a knife and stuck it hard into the board, where it quivered a little from the force.


Cluedo at Christmas

Christmas. No family: Harry had been invited, but it didn't look like she was turning up, John's parents were spending the season in Barbados, and, despite their parents efforts, Mycroft and Sherlock categorically refused to get together. Thus it was that Sherlock and John were alone, spending a week or so of December at 221B and having to fill in what seemed like inordinate amounts of time. There were no cases, at least, none that Sherlock had deigned to take.

Sherlock was playing the violin in an irritable fashion. Around him were scattered empty mugs, papers, half open books, plates of crumbs. He was evidently bored out of his mind. Sighing, John laid down his fifth book.

"God," he said. "This is boring."

"Quite."

"Want to do something?"

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know…" It was at this moment that Mrs Hudson made her providential entrance. She too was spending Christmas alone, though a lot of her friends were coming round on Christmas eve for a big party, to which Sherlock and John were invited (John had politely and gratefully accepted the invitation, and Sherlock had scowled, said no, been shoved by John and finally said a sullen acceptation.).

"I was clearing out my old chest," she said. "And I found this. I'd forgotten I had it, and it's no use to me, but I thought you boys might like it." She came in and laid a faded Cluedo box on the side. John, grateful for any distraction from the chasm of boredom, thanked her profusely. She smiled and blushed under his enthusiasm, and then left, muttering that for all people said about men today, some of them still had manners, and wasn't John just a perfect gentleman?

"Look, Sherlock, here's something we can do." John said, taking the lid off of the box and reading the yellowed instructions. Sherlock took one scornful look at it, put down the violin and turned over, whipping his dressing gown with him. "Come on, Sherlock," John continued, pulling out the board and beginning to put the pieces in place. "It's something, even if it is only a board game."

"It isn't _only a board game_." Sherlock spat. "It's _Cluedo_. It's _evil._"

"What?" John laughed. "Don't be so silly."

"It has no respect," said Sherlock, icily. "For truth or motive."

"It's just a game, Sherlock."

"An evil game."

"Oh come _on,_" John groaned. "Please?"

"Fine." Sherlock stood huffily up and came over to the coffee table. "I'll be Professor Plum. At least he's a bit intelligent."

"All right – can I be Colonel Mustard? I share his military prowess."

"He's all yours."

"Isn't it funny how we could all be characters? I mean, I'm Colonel Mustard because of the army, you're Professor Plum, of the intelligentsia, Mrs Hudson could be Mrs White – she's supposed to be the land lady or something, isn't she? – and then Irene Adler, our old friend, could be Miss Scarlett, since she's supposed to be a bit of a tart, as for the Reverend Green…I suppose Greg? Law and order, religion, it's all the same. Or should Huddie be Mrs Peacock? She's a sort of elderly aristocratic person…"

"Stop, John, just stop."

"Sorry. Shall we start?"

"Fine. Do you have pencils?"

"No; they were missing from the set. I don't keep them – biros are better. Do you have any?"

"Somewhere." Sherlock went through to the kitchen and rummaged through the second drawer, eventually retrieving two pencils. One was considerably sharper than the other. He gave the blunt one to John.

Half an hour later, Sherlock had got the right answer for the third time.

"I'll beat you yet." was John's response. They played again. John adopted a ridiculously secretive manner. Then, after a while, he put up a hand. "I think I have it." he said.

"Oh?"

"It was…" He paused, looking down at his sheet. "Mrs Peacock with the lead piping in the library."

"No."

"Damn."

They continued. It was the fifth game when Sherlock pulled out a knife and stuck it hard into the board, where it quivered a little from the force.

"What'd you do that for?" asked John, jumping back in surprise.

"You're too annoying."


End file.
